


Sevenfold

by carolinecrane



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg climbs the corporate ladder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sevenfold

There was a reason tourists came to Vegas. A reason they checked their propriety at the door, stripping down to as little as they thought they could get away with and offering pale, sallow limbs as a sacrifice to the sun gods. They came for the excitement of the lights and the promise of instant wealth, sure, but the only souvenir most of them took away was a t-shirt, the tan lines under their clothes, and the memory of a stark, too-bright sun shining down on them. 

He remembers his first taste of the desert, wide-eyed and fresh from college, stepping out of the airport for the first time to a blast of palpable air that burned against his air conditioner-cool skin. He remembers blinking against the sun, still so bright even in the late afternoon, and wondering if this was what Hell would feel like. A little thrill still goes through him at that thought, because even all these years later he still finds it funny that someone's idea of Hell is his idea of heaven. 

It took him awhile to get used to the temperature extremes, but it's been a few years now and there's nothing he'd change about his life. He never complains about the weather, even at the height of summer when the sun turns the sidewalks into concrete frying pans. He even tried that experiment once, cooked an egg right there on the sidewalk outside his apartment. Sure, he got a few looks from the neighbors, but it was all in the name of science, and besides, he gets those looks all the time anyway. 

He's grown sort of fond of August in the desert, really, because the tourist traffic dies down a little and work slows to a crawl. And then there's the fact that just walking outside reminds him of the way Nick touches him. One step outside in the summer and he's enveloped in stifling air, so thick he can practically see it as it cooks his skin and pulls the moisture right out of him. It reminds him of the way Nick kisses; hungry and determined, as though he's trying to prove something to both of them. And maybe he is, but whatever it is Greg's going to let him keep working on it for as long as it takes him to figure it out. 

There's no way he'd ever give up those touches, the kisses or anything else Nick wants to give him. He craves the burn too much, the way Nick's fingers sear marks into his skin that he can feel for days after. And somehow he's started thinking of the desert the way he thinks of Nick, as something he needs just to breathe. He needs the thick, dry air in the summer and the steam that rises off the streets when a sudden rainstorm rolls through town on its way to somewhere where the moisture won't be sucked out of the air as soon as it hits the ground. Sometimes he wonders if Nick knows; if he can tell by the press of sun-darkened fingers against his skin, the way Greg touches him as though he might disappear any second now. 

He's not sure; more importantly, he's not sure he cares. Part of him wants Nick to know exactly how much Greg wants him, to feel the same burn every time they kiss. So he tries to kiss Nick the same way Nick kisses him, hard and maybe just a little bit desperate, only letting him up for air when his lungs are as empty as the desert. Then Nick smiles at him and his temperature creeps up another few degrees in spite of the air conditioning; he knows people don't actually spontaneously combust, but even if he's the exception to the rule he could think of worse ways to go.

~

When tourists flock to Vegas they're not dreaming of nights like this. That just makes Nick appreciate these nights a little more, though, because it means less civilians for them to deal with while they race a sudden rain in a desperate effort to save whatever evidence they can. And it seems like these sudden rains always come when they're working an outdoor scene, when he's already pulling his collar closer in an effort to keep out the wind that's been biting at his skin for an hour. 

Nights like these are the kind they don't mention in the brochures, when the sun goes down on the desert and the temperature can drop faster than people lose their life savings at the tables. Winter nights in Vegas are just as cruel as summer days, coming on fast and unforgiving and leaving you, if you're unfortunate enough to be stuck outside, feeling stripped to the bone. 

Nick huffs air into his wind-raw hands, trying not to taste the latex of his gloves as he sets the last of the evidence in the Tahoe and shuts the door against the rain. He pulls off his gloves before he runs his hands over his face and through his hair, pushes drops of water out of his eyes before he starts the truck. And he knows when he gets back that he's going to have to smile through all the small talk about the weather, hear 'nice night, huh?' about a thousand times, and laugh good-naturedly when someone points out that he's soaked through and shivering. He almost doesn't mind getting caught out in the rain, though, not when the truck door swings open and then slams shut again. 

"What took you so long?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at his passenger as he fiddles with the truck's temperature controls. 

"Wanted to make sure we weren't forgetting anything," Greg answers, and Nick can't help it – he has to laugh at the eagerness in the other man's expression. Leave it to Greg to stand out in the rain after their entire crime scene's been washed away just because he's over-eager. 

"You only get about five minutes when a storm like this hits," Nick tells him, shivering a little as the rain settles into his clothes. "After that the crime scene's pretty much destroyed. No sense standing around in the rain waiting to catch your death."

He almost regrets bringing it up when Greg's smile falters a little, but Greg wants to learn and Nick's supposed to teach him. That means curbing his enthusiasm sometimes, especially when it's 40 degrees outside. Besides, he's been dating Greg long enough to know exactly how to soften the blow. "You look pretty good wet, though."

It has exactly the effect he's hoping for, and for a second he can forget that they're both soaked and the wind's picking up outside and they've still got a long night ahead of them. They're the last ones left at the scene, and he takes an uncharacteristic risk and leans across the seat, closing stiff fingers around the clammy front of Greg's jacket to haul him forward. He feels the effects of the wind on Greg's skin, lets out a breath and watches as Greg shivers against him. Smiles in the darkness and slides a hand down a rain-slick chest, pressing their mouths together and inhaling the clean, crisp scent of winter in the desert.

When he lets go again Greg's breathing hard, staring at him with bright eyes that Nick can make out clearly even though it's dark in the truck. "Is that part of the training process?" 

Nick just grins and slides back into his seat, pointing the truck back toward the lab. He can still feel Greg shivering against him and he knows he'll be thinking about it for the rest of the night, but at least it'll be a distraction from small talk about the weather.


End file.
